


Forgotten, Known

by resonant_aura



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fantasy AU, Ignoct Week 2017 - Day 2, M/M, crossover with Forgotten Beasts of Eld, this bunny has bitten hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resonant_aura/pseuds/resonant_aura
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Noctis Lucis Caelum lives alone on the highest mountain of Eos, surrounded by the mythical beasts he and his lineage have collected with the power of their magic. He is perfectly content this way--until one day a man from the warring realms below comes to his gates and begs a favor of him. A man who knows things he should not. His name is Ignis Scientia.





	Forgotten, Known

**Author's Note:**

> I fell for this ship so hard a few weeks ago, and then I found out about Ignoct Week 2017, and then I read the prompts, and I thought of this and I had to do it and I literally wrote this in about three hours. I normally read and reread and rereread my stories a dozen times before posting them--this is the most raw and unbetaed thing I have ever posted on the internet. It doesn't even have kissing in it! But it is here anyway because I love this book and I love this pairing and Ignoct Week is NOW and I had to. I'm mostly playing around with this for personal delight, but I do have ideas for continuing the story (where there is kissing even!)
> 
> The book this is based on is The Forgotten Beasts of Eld by Patricia A. McKillip. It has been my unflagging #1 favorite story for decades. Actual decades. It is a beautiful perfect story and I would never imagine I could do it justice but maybe hopefully this can borrow a little bit of brilliance from that story and be a fun read. 
> 
> All recognizable intellectual property is Square Enix's fault, or Patricia A. McKillip and Harcourt Inc., I believe. If you don't recognize it though it may very well be my personal twist on something. Muahaha.

Magic was a strange and frightening thing in the land of Eos. It tasted of wild, untouched places, sparkled in the air like a tempting nightmare. No one ever wanted to talk of it. No one ever wanted to touch it.

Of course, that didn’t mean people didn’t want to _use_ it.

That was why Noctis Lucis Caelum, first of his name, last of his kind, lived far from the people in their kingdoms and empires and castles. His father had warned him of the dangers of men’s wars. Generations of the Caelum family had had great magic that they practiced freely, at the whims of others or for their own goals—but fear was even more powerful than magic, and Noctis’s father’s father had fled the poison of the cities for the pure spring waters of the mountains on the edge of Tenebrae territory. Tenebrae was a neutral land and friendly to mystic folk—Mors found it easy to settle there among the waterfalls and caverns and their mysterious winding pathways. It was only a slightly more difficult matter to change those pathways into halls, the waterfalls into doorways, and the mountainside into his home, a magnificent domed creation that sparkled in the mist and sun.

The Caelum blood had always had a particular talent for calling, but Mors was the first to test the bindings of his call—to summon a creature and keep it, willing or no, in his thrall. Many had the ability, in that time, to draw upon the wellspring of power that created magic, but Mors was able to look inward and find the shape and color of that well, to still his breathing so that not a ripple disturbed its magical contents and quiet his mind so that it became clear and pure as the waters that rushed by his shelter. He called to his side the queen of the Coeurls, swift and lithe beasts of the Leide, who bared her teeth for but a moment before succumbing to his will. He called the Royalisk from its grotto, its colorful plumage ruffled as it beat the treetops with the wind of its massive wings, staring down at Mors with one eye. It, too, succumbed. And he called the king of the Mesmenir herds from his desert home, stroking one strong hand down his bony plates, reaching high over his head merely to touch the creature’s shoulder.

Mors died, as men are wont to do—and as other men have done, he left to his name and legacy a son, Regis. Regis was yet more powerful than his father. He called the rarest of feral beasts, the black Chocobo, and had it eating from his palm within minutes; he summoned Hvitrormr, the world Snake, long enough to catch every mortal in every city in its coils, and he held it in his mind without fear. He touched the name of the Behemoth King, deep in the place where all creatures hold a sacred space known only to themselves, and brought the beast charging up the mountainside in a heaving rage. Regis gentled the massive monster with a soft word and a keen eye, and that was that. The Behemoth made a nest of its own claw marks gouged into the rocks and stayed, restless for the plains but unable to break loose from Regis’s magical grip.

It was then, for the first time in man’s recorded history, that any magician, Caelum or no, called one of the Six—the ancient beings, godlike in their strength and longevity, unmatchable in their magical vitality. Regis sat beneath the dome of his dwelling, gazing into the waters that fell like curtains all around him, and sought the oldest, strangest names he knew. He found one. Titan.

To call the Six was no small feat—and Titan answered as one might expect, with a mighty shake of the earth, leaving the people who lived nearby quaking in his shadow as he rose from the bowl of the land where he slept and journeyed to the mountains. Had anyone witnessed it, the encounter would have been a tale for epics: the giant Titan, the Archaeon, pulled from legend to break the earth beneath his might once more; and Regis, insignificant in size, dressed in simple clothes, but gazing upon his quarry with such depth and power in his eyes that even a giant could not escape. Neither was willing to fall, and where the giant had might and size, Regis had determination, quickness, and magic powerful enough to catch and counter Titan’s fists. And so Titan laid himself down to sleep in the mountain, and the people of Tenebrae adopted a new expression—beware the rocks when Titan grumbles.

But even as his magical menagerie expanded, Regis found himself longing for a different calling—for a companion, someone who could enjoy the magic beside him. He called to him a young woman from the far off city of Insomnia, walled and bright and shining with its metalworking. She did not love the beasts as he did, for in all other parts of the world creatures such as the ones Regis spoke with were called daemons and feared for their ferocity, rumored to spread madness to those they touched. For her Regis built a great wall of smooth white stone around their home in the mountain, with a single gate, to comfort her. In time, though she did not love his work, she loved him and bore him a son.

Noctis Lucis Caelum did not disappoint his father—he could not disappoint his mother, for she died upon his birth—and could touch the wellspring of power just as his father taught him. But he could do more: he could force his magic into a shape visible and tangible to the world beyond the boundaries of his own mind. Little things at first: buttons, leather thongs, trinkets and trappings, but soon he could create things of great foreboding simply with his mind. Swords, shields, lightning bolts he could hold in his palm. He ventured beyond the waterfalls, beyond the wall, confident in his youth and power, and his journeying grew more bold and reckless. Then, one day, he met them.

The armies of men. Somewhere down below—Noctis never did learn who, or what, or why—there was a war going on, and someone’s man saw Noctis, saw his face peeping out from a shrub to watch the chaos, and attacked.

Noctis fled, and took a terrible blow to his back for it—made worse with poison. He barely made it home to collapse at his gate, and would have died had it not been for his father’s power. Regis poured all the strength he had into repairing his child’s body; all and then some, and as surely as Noctis recovered from his ordeal, Regis wasted away because of it.

And for that reason, Noctis has sworn: there will be no son of Caelum who magicks for any man, nor any fight. No battle stands worthy of it.

***

There was a shouting at his gates.

Noct almost didn’t recognize it—it had been so long since he heard the sound of human speech, he had dismissed it for too long already as a strange bird’s cry. He stared sightlessly at the book in his lap, and his eyes drifted to the waterfall, pattering in flickering silver ribbons to the ground. It was night. Why would there be a call at his gates in the night?

Noct shook it off and returned his attention to the book, but he kept slipping away. The cry was too distracting.

 _Hvitrormr_ , he whispered in the mind of the great snake. He could feel him, resting in the glades within the wall, coiled around an ancient tree. _Do you hear that?_

 _I do, Little King._ The Snake’s voice rustled over his mind like dry leaves in a dead wind, like old earth crumbling into dust. Noct shivered.

_Go see what it wants._

He felt the serpent unwind himself and wend between the rocks and flowers, sliding toward the gates. Noct blinked—he never remembered to when he was one with Hvitrormr—and closed his eyes, resting his head against the cushions of the lounging bench. He was tired. It was irritating. He had been trying and trying to call the Six, especially _her_ , but…

The shouting continued.

_Well?_

_It is a man, Little King, and a woman. They are here to see you._

_What do they want with me?_ Noct asked, brow furrowed.

_Perhaps a taste of power. They do not smell of magic._

Noct snorted. _Tell them to leave._

There was silence. Then the cries rose again, floating through the air like spider webs twisting in the wind. Noct waited for a beat, then another, and finally tossed his book away with a disgusted sigh and rose. The cries stopped as he made his way to the gate.

Hvitrormr was upright, weaving back and forth to keep his balance, hood flared. His dark scales flashed silver in the bright moonlight, reflected off the waters nearby. Noct could not quite see the faces of the two figures standing on the other side of the gate, shadowed by the trees, but he saw the man’s gloved hand clenched tight around the arm of the woman beside him—and he could see the silver gleam of a dagger in his other hand. Noct stopped beside the great snake and laid his hand on the cool, dry scales.

“Who are you?” he asked the darkness.

He saw the gloved fingers shift in the light, impossibly tightening. It looked like that grip might hurt.

“Who are you?” Noct asked again, eyes narrowed.

He heard an audible swallow, dry and hard. “I didn’t think it was possible,” came a whisper from the dark. “Are you the son of Regis, son of Mor, of the line of Lucis?”

“Regis was my father. Who are you to ask after him? Answer quick, or I’ll have no reason to let you live.”

“My name is Ignis Scientia. I come on a mission of peace.”

The man had a pleasant voice, deep and with a languid accent despite the urgency of his tone, but Noct was irritated and impatient. _I thought I told you to make them leave,_ he hissed.

The snake danced in the air until one black eye was fixed unwinkingly on Noct. _I know you have the power to make me act in your name, Little King. But before you bare your fangs, remember the lesson you and your father learned—men are quick to anger, and vicious in pursuit, like a viper. If you strike this man down here, who is to say more will not follow?_

Noct scowled. “I already have peace,” he said aloud to the shadowed man. “Leave, before you find yours in the ground.” He turned to leave.

“Please!” The clang of metal made Noct jump and twist warily. The man—Ignis Scientia—had stepped forward, his hands now clenched around the cold metal bars of the gate. His dagger was still reverberating, pinned between his glove and the bars. Noct could see his expression now, fiercely determined, solemn. He looked—young? Noct didn’t really know what a young man looked like. His father had been older, bearded and grey, and wasting away the last time Noct had seen him. This man was broad-shouldered, his face lined with something other than age. For the first time Noct noticed the man’s clothes—form-fitting, armored.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

“Because I have been at Leide.”

“Leide? What happens in Leide?”

“War,” Ignis answered grimly. “Something you know nothing of, I gather.”

Noct remained silent. Hvitrormr had settled into coils, his head resting against Noct’s side. Without even a twitch Noct sent the thread of a call into the minds of his companions, stirring them in their sleep.

“I come on a mission of peace,” Ignis said again. “The Empire has gone too far. They seek to destroy all that is good and sacred, and they attacked the Oracle. My uncle sent me to collect the Oracle and bring her to a safe place, away from all powers that might do harm. And so I came here.”

“Oracle? What’s the Oracle?”

Ignis looked over his shoulder. “She is.”

The maiden in the shadows did not move, but looking at her, Noct could feel something. Not quite magic as he knew it, but something else, a restless ripple in the air. “Oh.”

Ignis stepped back from the gate. “I understand you must be indifferent to the struggles of those who live in the shadow of the mountain, but you must take the Oracle and keep her safe. You are the only one with the power. I cannot protect her any longer.”

Noct watched the Oracle skeptically. “I am not… Why would your uncle tell you to see me?”

“He didn’t,” Ignis said flatly. “He did not have that time before he was killed. By the Emperor. Who I am now going to wring the life from with my bare hands. If you would just _take her_!”

Noct went very still, and stared Ignis in the eyes. “Do not shout at me,” he said very softly. He tugged on the threads of his calling, and the world within his gates responded. The grasses rippled and rustled, and on soundless paws the Coeurl Regina padded forward, butting her head beneath Noct’s hand. She yowled at Ignis as loose rocks tumbled down the cliffs, clattering along with the Mesmenir’s hooves. The air boomed and battered at the three humans as Royalisk, the Dusk Flight, swooped low and roosted somewhere high out of sight, only its rainbow-colored tail hanging from the branches like a tapestry. “You are not as safe as you think, with your daggers and your words.”

“Mesmenir,” Ignis breathed, gazing up in wonder at the great beast. “Mount of gods—once the noble warrior Gilgamesh claimed him as a steed, and since that death he will accept no other upon his back. He chooses to fight his own battles rather than be led blindly.”

Noct stared at him. “How do you know that?”

“And Royalisk. They say once he was plain, and the gods wept to see a creature so drab, and dipped him in the sun as it set in the ocean so that he would forever be of both water and fire—a jewel that glistens and burns with magic no matter the time, and can hang in the sky or sink to the ground without fear. Any mortal it grants its guidance to will never die of a fall. The Coeurl—I—I do not think—” Regina dragged her tongue slowly over her lips. Ignis started. “Wait—there were tales, long ago, of a rogue queen who shunned the light and shunned the eyes of her people, and to keep them in awe she had a companion. A magnificently beautiful beast, a wild cat who was not brought to heel but welcomed as an ally, who padded through the streets with such stealth that you could not see her in a noonday sun if she did not wish it, and dined upon the hearts of the men the queen defeated in battle. Regina.”

The Coeurl turned her emerald eyes on Noct. _Where,_ she purred, _did you find this one?_

 _He brought me a woman,_ Noct answered absently.

_You are of age. Perhaps it is a sign from the gods._

Noct dragged his fingertips through the coeurl’s curling, silky fur. “Who are you?” he asks, eyes wide, feeling a shiver rattle his bones. It didn’t feel like magic in the air but something older, something untouchable.

“Ignis Scientia.”

“I know that,” Noct snapped. “How do you know these tales? No one alive would know of these stories—not unless they could use magic, and you cannot lie to me, I know you do not have magic in you.”

“I know,” Ignis answered, and then the earth buckled beneath them, rumbling and rolling like the sea. Noct held his ground, knees loose and grip steady with the Coeurl and the world Snake on either side of him; Ignis tumbled into the metal bars and reached out a steadying hand to the Oracle, whose hands were clutching at the sides of her head in distress. The rumbling eased, and Ignis looked up from where he knelt beside the Oracle in something like fear at Noct. “That one. You have him. The Archaeon. Noctis, how did you—”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know.” Ignis looked down at his dagger, still in his hand, and sheathed it. “If you have him, there truly is no safer place for the Oracle. Please, I beg of you. She has done nothing but good for others. She does not deserve the fate the Empire has in store for her, if you let them have her.”

From deep within the mountain, the Titan’s voice echoed, a sound like the crashing of boulders down a cliff. _Why, awakened?_

 _I was angry,_ Noct replied. _I am not now. Do not disturb your rest, Archaeon._

_Little, distressed, mountain. Bury._

_No. He is fine; I was only confused. He knows my name, and I did not give it to him._

_Name,_ Titan laughed, and the mountain trembled. Noct cast an exasperated glance over his shoulder at the network of caves that disguised Titan’s sleeping form.

“Will you?”

Noct returned to himself sharply. “What?”

“Will you take care of her? That’s what she needs—a place to hide, a place to rest. Someone who does not demand much of her. She’s seen great suffering of late.” Ignis brought the Oracle forward with one arm wrapped protectively around her.

Noct tilted his head curiously. “I never knew a woman. My mother died when I was born.”

Ignis checked, and whatever it was that had haunted his eyes, the lines that were not age, seemed to melt somewhat. His expression gentled. “You were alone?”

“Not then. I have been, now.”

“Solitude is a wise and gentle companion, but not always a welcome one. I would wish that it did not visit pain upon you when it arrived.”

“Why?” Noctis whispered.

In the moonlight, Ignis’s eyes were very bright. “I know,” he said with a gentle shrug. His armor clinked quietly. “I know what it is to be drowning in yourself.”

Silently Noct gazed through the bars. Then he stepped forward and unlocked the gate, holding out a hand to the Oracle. She was dirty, her skin scraped and smeared with blood and dirt and a strange dark ichor, and her dress was ragged and hanging loose about her bones. She reached for him so tentatively that only their fingertips brushed, and she walked through the gate without looking back. Noct closed and locked the gate immediately.

Ignis closed his hand around the bars once more. “Be kind to her.”

Noct scowled. “Don’t you have a war to fight? If you cared so much for her you and your fighters wouldn’t be shedding blood in the first place.”

“I would say defenders do not deserve such scorn, but we shed blood as surely as the enemy. Perhaps your perspective high in the mountains is clearer than mine.”

“One who knows such things as you should know better than to pass violence from hand to hand. Goodbye, Ignis Scientia. Do not come here again.”

“Goodbye, Noctis Lucis Caelum.” Ignis faded into the shadows once more. “I will not trouble you again until there is need.”

Noct stood awkwardly on the path to his cavern home, shifting from foot to foot as he stared the Oracle up and down. She needed a bath, and food, and new clothes. He didn’t have anything like a dress though; they would have to make do. Gently, softly, Noct called to her from outside of his own mind, in a neutral space between them: _Do you have a name?_

The woman startled, eyes wide and pale as coins glinting in the light. She stared at him.

 _Do you have a name?_ Noct asked. _Would you give it to me freely, if I asked?_

The response was long in coming, and faint and fragile as a wisp of smoke. _… Lunafreya._

It was not her whole name. Noct smiled; she was smart, and quiet, and careful. He reached out with his hand up, not really sure what would happen but remembering the gesture from days when he was smaller and his father was alive and well. Lunafreya wrapped her thin fingers around Noct’s and followed him into the mountain.


End file.
